‘She saw me’: Finding unexpected grace while grieving my brother | Opinion

My two brothers and I had a rather tough time growing up: Our father left when we were little more than infants, and our mother was punishing, harsh and unloving; but she fed, housed and clothed us. Perhaps that’s a type of “love,” but it’s not the unconditional love that a small child needs and yearns deeply for.

That yearning does not necessarily go away with time and maturation. It’s buried under layers of coping and making do and hoping that one will finally find a way to fill the physical hole left by the lack of unconditional love.

Both of my brothers died relatively young. My older brother, Buzz, committed suicide when he was 50. Pete died a few years later of a burst aneurism deep within his brain which the medical examiner said could not have been treated, even if it had been discovered.

As I write this, there is still deep sorrow for both of them, but for Buzz, especially, because of the particular nature of the loss when someone you have loved, idolized and depended on all your life takes his own life.

There is a unique sorrow occasioned by a sibling who voluntarily, purposefully, leaves you alone and bereft. For me, there was respite provided by an unplanned chance encounter — a moment of grace that changed everything.

In the immediate aftermath of Buzz’s death, I was the “strong one.” While our mother and Buzz’s wife and daughter grieved, I made arrangements. At the end of each day, I went to bed, dazed and numb. I slept fitfully and woke to the stunning knowledge that Buzz was dead — new all over again.

There was an outpouring of support for Buzz’s widow and daughter. Interestingly, my pain and anguish were treated as secondary — not that important. After all, I was “only” his sister. But, I thought, I knew him much longer than anyone else did.

We knew and shared everything. He was my protector, my mentor and my confidant every minute of my life.

My church did not reach out to me in any way. I felt alone and, somehow, wrong because of the deep, pervading sorrow I felt. Because no one else saw me as worthy of their commiseration, I began to believe it was my responsibility to just get over it.

When I returned to my position at the Insurance Center of Salinas, I fulfilled my responsibilities by burying my emotions and putting on my business smile. The three young women who worked for me knew better. They were exceptionally caring, handling the exceptional workload and involving me in only the most complicated cases.

Meanwhile, I “saw” Buzz everywhere. He was the man in the booth next to me when I ate lunch. He was the man in the car parked at the curb outside my office. He was the man walking in front of me who turned and looked at me briefly before disappearing.

I had been back to work for a few days when my claims specialist came to my desk early on a Tuesday and quietly said, “Bunny, there’s a grief group that meets at noon today at St. Paul’s Episcopal Church. Maybe you would find it helpful.”

I walked into the multi-purpose room at St. Paul’s and saw people already seated in a large circle, conversing quietly. When the facilitator welcomed the group, he asked that each person introduce themselves and state the reason they were attending the group. As the introductions began, each and every person stated that they were grieving the loss of a spouse.

When it was my turn, I said what I feared was true, “I may be in the wrong place. I didn’t lose my husband. I lost my brother.”

A woman I had never seen before leaned into the circle so that she could see me clearly and make strong eye contact. And, with tenderness in every syllable, she said, “Oh, my dear, you are definitely in the right place. No wonder you’re grieving. We are more closely related to our sibling than we are to any other person in the world. We who have lost a spouse were not even related to them, except by law. And each of us is only half of each parent. It is only with our sibling that we are related 100%. It is the closest relationship possible.”

She validated my grief. She saw me and understood. She did not minimize. With her gracious insight, she gave me what I needed most and found in no other place.

Grace came down in words spoken by a woman I did not know and never saw again. Interesting, isn’t it? All the places that I expected to find surcease and healing were empty. I learned that we must look for our miracles in unexpected places.

In the Jewish scriptures, Abraham entertained angels unaware. Are we also sometimes oblivious? Because of a few words spoken by a co-worker, I found myself in a nondescript multi-purpose room, in a church I had never attended, with people unknown to me.

I was a stranger, and with her wisdom, compassion and tender words, she took me in. Angels do that, I’m told.

Bunny Stevens lives in Modesto, her hometown, and has served on The Modesto Bee Community Advisory Board. She is the opening courtesy clerk at the Safeway supermarket on McHenry Avenue and an ordained minister in the Universal Life Church. Reach her at BunnyinModesto@gmail.com

This story was originally published January 24, 2026 at 6:00 AM.